


(But to find you) I will cross the universe

by typographicalmisfit



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossover, F/F, F/M, Non-Graphic Violence, POV First Person, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-07-23 22:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7483218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typographicalmisfit/pseuds/typographicalmisfit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke enters a world where people kill each other for a throne, where dragons are real, and where winter lasts a lifetime. </p><p>This is a (very) slow burn Clexa in Game of Thrones universe. Inspired by Robert Bengtsson's "Cross the Universe".</p><p>Season 3 finale (The 100) | Season 5 onward (GOT) | Un-beta'ed | Mature rating for language</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and places related to The 100 and Game of Thrones mentioned herein belong to their respective owners.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke makes a life changing, world altering decision...

**Prologue**

 

Blood.

I can smell blood. Is it mine? I bet it is. I can barely feel my body. My head feels so light it seems floating in the air, back up in the sky where I come from. Maybe this is what dying feels like. I am slowly ascending... or am I being flushed out of Earth? Perhaps that's it. Space is pulling me out of this world. I belong out there, wherever people who were sentenced to float go. Like my dad. Maybe I will find him. Maybe he will find me. I don't know. I know nothing about dying.

The dead no longer have their senses, right? What am I thinking. Of course dead people no longer have senses. They cannot, for instance, taste the blood that drips down their nose. They cannot feel how sticky it can be. They cannot see how dark it has become. They cannot hear the whispers. They cannot recognize familiarity, like the voice that used to pronounce your name unlike any other.

_I will always be with you._

A pang in my head returns a memory. The last thing I remember was seeing my mom—her face painted with anxiety. I was supposed to do something big... to stop ALLIE from attempting to destroy the human race once more. In order to do that I had to enter the City of Lights and find the switch, terminating that chaotic piece of invention.

I remember being there, in the perfect world called City of Lights. Its majestic horizon filled with buildings and skyscrapers made of metal and glass. The concrete floor extends as far as I could see. Things that I have only seen in files or read in books exists in that very place, the past and their future combined. People walked around in their neat and unscathed clothes, almost shining if you look closely. They move in sync like animated corpses—monotonous, apathetic, insensible. But such perfection lacked one thing... something that we learned about when we landed on Earth: life.

And yet, there in the miserably perfect world ALLIE created, I found the only piece that could ever complete me.

Gracious in combat, she swung her swords as if she was merely dancing in the wind. A confident smug curved on her lips as she looked over her shoulders toward my direction. There was no evidence of death in her, even though she died in my arms. Her green eyes held my breathing. Her soft touch burned my skin. Her lips melted my whole being. I could have died right then and there, and still be blissful in the next life.

But we were cursed by our abilities.

Our reunion had to be cut short—a bittersweet ending. As much as I want time to stop at the very moment I have her in my arms, I cannot. I had a mission, one that would decide the future of mankind. It was beyond myself. In the end, I had the remaining pieces of my heart shattered into into dust. One last goodbye.

I still had a clear view of Earth from where I stood. ALLIE whispering apocalypse in my ear and Becca speaking of hope in another. But one thing was certain. When I entered the City of Lights, the two programs combined.

I, Clarke Griffin, was in control.

And then I am not.

At first, there is light. Then there is nothing. My mind is blank and my body is nowhere. I seem to free fall, only in all directions. I am anything but in control. Until pain slowly slips through, tear trails down my face, and her voice—God, I can hear her voice.

_Do not falter, Clarke. The spirit of the Commander is with you._

She is close—too close, in fact. "Lexa?"

_Follow your heart and you will not stray._

It feels weird feeling her presence within me, yet there is comfort in it. "I don't... What is happening?"

_May we meet again._

"Wait—Lexa!"

Nothing.

Her voice is gone but my pain remains. I can finally feel my body and the pavement where I lay. And on cue, the rest of my senses return. I hear foreign words from unfamiliar voices. I smell salt in the air. What is worse, however, is opening my eyes for the first time since—Ark knows how long—and recognizing absolutely none of what I see.

I have the spirit of the Commander with me and right now, I certainly know nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here I am, writing another fiction when I probably shouldn't. Unfortunately for my previous story, "It's not over yet", episode six of season three happened and I lost all motivation to write further. It was beyond devastating yet I know I should not make that an excuse for my shortcomings. In any case, I hope you enjoy this story I came up with as I binge watched Game of Thrones.
> 
> It is written in first person POV for two reasons: first, I am comfortable with it, and second, it's how I think I will manage writing anything related to GOT (since I am not prolific in their way of speaking).
> 
> \--Possible spoilers below; don't want, don't read and skip to the end.--
> 
> Now, about the story:
> 
> It starts at the finale of The 100 season 3, specifically at the part where Clarke finally meets Becca. Will there be other The 100 pairing/s, I guess we shall see. Believe me when I say I do love Raven, Octavia and Lincoln though—especially Raven.
> 
> It will be in around season 5 of Game of Thrones; during Tommen I's reign and Daenery's eastern conquest. There will be mentions of GOT side pairings such as Sansaery and Daenarya (maybe will try to integrate suggested pairings, too). I cannot promise heavy interactions though, due to my limited GOT writing capabilities (also I haven't read ASOIAF). So I ask for forgiveness in advance in case—which is likely—I make GOT/ASOIAF mistakes.
> 
> \--Possible spoilers end--
> 
> For readers unfamiliar with GOT, I will do my best to explain stuff about their universe as the story progresses.
> 
> I will tag more characters/pairings as soon as then appear in the story.
> 
> I'm typographicalmisfit at Tumblr if you wanna say anything.
> 
> Thank you!
> 
> P.S. The first chapter will be posted exactly 24 hours after this. However, that is an irregularity. Normal updates will take way longer than that. And if I am to stop updating, I will let you know soon.


	2. Clarke I (The beginnings in Myr)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke wakes up in a foreign land—no, scratch that. She wakes up in a foreign world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I woke up earlier and was able to edit this chapter sooner. 
> 
> There's quite a number of OCs for the first few chapters since I am still trying to build the story. Familiar names will turn up soon!
> 
> The speeches in bastard Valyrian in this chapter are all incomplete since it's in Clarke's POV. It only makes sense that she can only understand a few words and not the whole sentences, thus the broken speeches. Who knows, maybe she will learn their language soon... or not.
> 
> For my strictly The 100-only viewers:
> 
> The Known World of Game of Thrones has three continents namely: Westeros (in the West), Essos (in the East), and Sothoryos (Southeast of Essos). Slaver's Bay is at the southeast part of Essos.
> 
> Lord of Light - a god worshiped prominently in Essos  
> Many-faced god - a god worshiped in Braavos by the Faceless Men  
> The Seven - gods worshiped in Westeros  
> Common tongue - English language  
> Greenseer - has the ability to see prophetic visions  
> Sellsword - mercenary  
> High Valyrian - language of old Valyria and Valyrian freehold
> 
> \--
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters and places related to The 100 and Game of Thrones mentioned herein belong to their respective owners.

**Clarke I**

**The begginings in Myr**

 

_"Lexa!"_

I stare blankly at the brick wall, my chest weaving heavily. It always happen before the break of dawn. I dream of myself space walking, following Lexa's voice, and reaching out for her even if she is nowhere to be seen. By the time I run out of breath, I wake up screaming her name. This is the twenty seventh time it happened—that's since the day I woke up in the busy trade alley of Myr. And for the twenty seventh time, I get out of my makeshift bed before sunrise.

The first time I wandered around the city, not many paid attention to me. The trade alley was packed with merchants and their slaves, foreign traders and possibly pirates. There were barrels of wine, carpets and blankets, mirrors and lenses. People were speaking in a language closest to _Trigedasleng_ , only far more difficult. I must have walked three or four blocks before they realize that I was foreign. The way I was not dressed for the weather or their culture, the way I looked around like a lost puppy which I was. Simply put, I did not fit. When I finally had the attention of most alley goers, I panicked. I run as fast and as far possible. At the end of my escape, I met a boy, probably five or six years younger than me, stacking crates in front of a brick building—that same boy whom I would be thanking for the rest of my days here in the city.

Taga, the old man who accepted me in his shabby household, speaks something in bastard Valyrian—their language—from behind. I glance at his stern face and politely nod. He scoffs and goes on his morning routine. Taga owns a small stall at the trade alley. Back in the day, he used to make those expensive carpets they sell to noblemen in all seven kingdoms. When he lost his wife to a sickness, he used up everything he got for both wine and women. His business went in a rot and all that remained were his untidy house up in the hills and young apprentice named Jehari. As usual, Taga yells to wake the boy up.

Every morning, Jehari would roam around mercantile area five blocks down the hill from where Taga's house is. He scavenges scrap materials such as cotton and linen, and brings it to Taga in hope of making something out of it. With enough luck, he can create a small carpet worth roughly three days of food for the two of them.

"You wake up too early, it's costing me sleep." Jehari says in between yawns.

I glance at him. "I'm sorry. I'm trying my best to control my nightmares."

He stretches his arms out before pulling an old worn-out cart. "And old man is preparing the best ale as we speak." He scoffs. This boy sure knows how to ride with my sarcasm. "I do not know where you came from, _Kalark_. But here, we cannot control nightmares. That's a whole different religion. Are you certain you are not a priestess?"

I smile and shake my head as I follow him out into the street.

A priestess, a bastard, a princess, a queen—those are some of the names they call me. It's funny how I am hoping someone would yell 'Wanheda' out of the blue. At least I know someone actually knows me. By then I might start getting answers to my questions.

If only.

* * *

**Day 28**

Some days, I help Jehari out with his errands. It works fine for me since I get to see the rest of the city. I learn bits of this and that, of who and what, of when and where. For example, Myr is a free city whose main trades are carpets, laces and lenses. They have this oblique silver coin for currency. There are many gods and each of them have their own temple and shrines around. And one last thing: slavery. Not only is it common, it is also legal in this place—as is in other cities.

When I am not out in the streets, I make patterns for Taga. I illustrate carpet patterns I remember from Polis. Each of them receives a surprising affirmative scoff from the old man. As much as I want to learn their language to communicate with him, it is immensely difficult. Bastard Valyrian, they call it. A variation of High Valyrian from ancient Valyria. It's funny how I enjoy their history. Everything is new for me and most of the times they don't make any sense. It makes me feel like I am just in an alternate world and any minute, Raven will show me the way out of it. If only things are that easy. I would be grateful to anyone who will wake me in this long dream I am having.

Jehair places half-full crate down. "Your creation is quite different from what Old man always do. In fact, it is different than most. Where do you get the idea?"

I need not to look up from the parchment I am working on to answer the boy. "From the books I have read and videos I have seen."

" _Videyo_?" He tries to repeat the word.

This time I look up to him. "Video. It's a recording of, for example the past. You watch moving visual images that was recorded."

His eyes widens and his mouth partly open. "Y-you mean, you are a _greenseer_?"

"A what?"

"Someone who can see the past, the present and the future! That is a rare ability, _Kalark_. I didn't know you have magic in your blood!"

"Woah—wait. No, that is not what I meant. I am not a seer or fortuneteller. There is no magic or whatever in my blood, okay? Anyone can watch a video, it's not really a talent."

The boy looks at me confusedly. "But there is no such thing, _Kalark_. Not in Westeros and certainly not in Essos."

Perhaps there is no point in arguing about this. Apparently, technology here is behind by... I don't know, a lifetime? And it's not their fault. It's either I traveled back into medieval times or I entered a different dimension parallel to ours. Oh, Ark. Why is this happening to me?

"Let's just agree to disagree." I suggest.

The young apprentice sighs in defeat. "Fine," His disappointment turns into sadness. "But you know, wherever it is you came from, that seemed to be a magical place. Every story you tell has something that I have never heard of. Maybe you are from the future."

"You're twelve, Jehari. You can't possibly know everything in this world yet anyway." And that is true. Who knows, Polis might just be in a land beyond Westeros. A smile creeps on my face. Maybe I am from the future.

"Whatever." He shrugs. "Wait, you did say you are able to paint, right _Kalark_? I found this in Moreak alley." He pulls out an old hardened brush from the crate. "I fail to find any inks they use with those. There are some writing ink around though. You should still be able to make something out of it, right?"

I take the brush from him and somehow, it reminds me of who I was, of what I used to do. Those landscapes of Earth and portraits of...

"Yes," I smile weakly at him. "I can work something out. Thank you, Jehari."

He looks over his shoulder but says nothing more.

As night comes, I pick up the newly softened brush. With a partly crumpled parchment and leftover writing ink, I delve into my fondest memories and let my hand translate what my heart desires.

* * *

**Day 29**

"Where did you come from, _Kalark_?"

Jehari asks without looking. He is staring right up as he lay down on the grass at the top of Old Man's hill, as we call it. I sit not far from him, watching the moon's reflection upon the sea.

"Aren't you bored of that story yet?" I have to return the question because it's the same story I tell him almost every night.

"Tell me anyway. Your life story is the only entertainment I have these days."

And I believe him. Being an apprentice to a grumpy old mercantile is the closest he has to education. Unlike other children of his own age, he has responsibilities and he has no better choice than to fulfill it.

"Why don't you tell me how you met Taga instead? That would be a nice change, don't you think?"

A sigh. "It's not as interesting as yours."

"I beg to differ. I told you how I lived in space, every night; how we were sent down to the ground as punishment. I am very much interested in your story, believe me."

Silence.

"My parents sold me to old man Taga when I was nine. He used to be nicer when he still had his wife. Calls me his apprentice when, truly, I am only his slave." Jehari sits up. "You wanted to hear my story? There you have it. Mind you, the same goes for half of the kids here—except for the apprentice part."

"But you? You are special... or a great liar. Either way, it is entertaining for me."

I never really considered that, to be honest. I have been here for quite a while and yet I stay as naive as I was when I first found myself lost in this place.

"I'm sorry." I whisper.

Jehari shakes his head. "Yeah, I am, too."

"Here," I pull out a parchment and hand it to him. "I made it last night."

There are many things I have done and I am not proud of. But art? I know that is my strong point. My companion's reaction is just another confirmation of that. He glance at me then back to the parchment I handed him.

"This is..." His fingers run over the image, his eyes glimmer in what seems to be amazement. "This is beautiful, _Kalark_. Is this… _her_?"

A lump in my throat makes it difficult to speak further. The water in my eyes make it hard to see. A weight in my chest makes it hard to breath.

"She is a beautiful muse."

"You remember her face well." He says, a compassionate smile on his face.

I would say that is an understatement. Her face. Her voice. Her smell. Her touch. Her taste. I remember her vividly.

A tear falls as I nod slightly. "She is everything I see... when I think of home."

* * *

**Day 31**

There is a rumor of a queen conquering cities along Slaver's Bay, I hear the merchant gossip in trade alley. They call her 'Mother of Dragons', the 'Unburnt', and 'Breaker of Chains'. Some say she will free the remaining slaves here in Essos, while others claim she will sail to Westeros, wherever that is, to conquer the rest of the world.

I pretend not to care. Yet inside, I am partly laughing.

I was born in space. I was sent to Earth on board a drop ship. I killed hundreds and hundreds of people. I entered the perfect City of Lights through a microchip. And now, I am in a place where dragons rule the world. If I am to write my life's journey, it would be a bestseller. There would be movie adaptations and television shows about it. I would be an instant millionaire.

Not that I desire any material thing of value.

There is nothing more I want than to go home. Unfortunately, I cannot do that without knowing where that is—where _she_ is. I have to be here, where people kill each other for a throne, where winter lasts a lifetime, where dragons do exist... or so they say.

"What is it?" Jehari asks as he returns the old cart back to its place. "You have your forehead creased like that, it means you are thinking deep."

I smile. "Do you believe in dragons?"

"Yes," He answers almost immediately. "But the last dragon died over a hundred of years ago."

Wait, what?!

Astounded by his revelation, I gawk at Jehari. That cannot be true. Dragons only exist in fairy tales and myths. Surely, this city has one or two of those to tell their children I bet.

"You don't believe me." He glares at me. "Well, people talk about the Mother of Dragons these days. They said she walked in the flames and when the fire died out, she gave birth to three dragons." His eyes glimmer as he narrates the story. "Not one, but three dragons!"

It sounds much like a fairy tale to me. I don't blame Jehari. He is a child after all.

"You think I made that story up, don't you?"

I try to minimize my skepticism. "People talk about the 'Lord of Light' as well. There's also the 'Many-face God', the 'Seven' and what else..."

"Okay, I get it. You are not a believer. But this is not a religion, _Kalark_."

"Fine," I say as I lift my hand in surrender. "It's just... where I came from, there are no dragons."

"Yes, only ship that sails up the sky and stay there for years. I understand why."

"No, no. They are totally different. Dragons are mythical creatures while _spaceships_ are technological inventions. There is science behind the latter, it can be explained."

He sighs. "You are so smart, you give me head pain. Maybe one day you will see a dragon for yourself, until then no more questions about it."

"Okay, I'm sorry." I tap my fingers on a parchment involuntarily. "So how come that 'mother' didn't burn when she walked into the flames?"

A piercing look from the young apprentice is my answer.

* * *

**Day 33**

The first time I found myself here in Myr, I was a complete stranger. My sole existence screamed for attention. Well, now I can confidently say I learned how to blend in. I wear the same clothes they wear. A scarf hides my hair and my face just enough so people won't mind me at all. I do not speak but I listen very carefully and try to decipher a word or two of that bastard Valyrian they use.

Often I pass by the docks where they exchange gossips while trading goods. It is one of the places where the common tongue is used. Sometimes I end up walking all the way to the other side of the walled city of Myr where several temples stand. But one of my favorite places to visit would be the alley where a woman wearing crimson robe speaks of a certain 'Lord of Light'. She gestures toward the fire of a torch nearby and exclaims something in a different language. Some of the audience weep while others rage.

It is a fascinating site—and frightening at the same time.

Only when the priestess glances at my direction I realize how late it is. The sun has already set that is why the fire glows brightly. I turn away from the crowd and make my way back through the now torch-lighted streets.

"You have seen the _light_." A woman grabs my arm, halting me. I almost jump in surprise when I recognize who it is. "You've been in it, and escaped it."

I pull my arm and take a step back. "I-I don't know what you're talking about. I'm—"

Her brows crease as her eyes dart toward my arm. "There is darkness in you," She say contemplatively. "Yet you radiate. You hold a power unlike any other. Tell me, who are you?"

"No one, I-I am no one. Sorry, I have to—" I move away quickly, hoping to escape the woman as fast possible.

"From coal to fire, and fire to coal they turn." She exclaims from a distance. I look over my shoulder and confirm that she is still speaking of me. "A lion shall inhale smoke as its last hope; a dragon shall lay beside an unwelcoming forest; a snake shall grant the sky no venom but life; and _he_ will die by the hands of a freeman."

Her words make no sense yet each of them sends chill to my spine. What is that woman talking about? If she meant the City of Lights, then yes I have been there and I... I have no memory beyond that. Does that mean this is my escape? I can't remember making a decision.

Occupied by the priestess' words, I nearly run into a cart.

"Oi! Watch where yer goin' will ya?!" A man yells.

I want to say something—apologize, but my heart is pounding in my chest, so loud I can hear it in my ears. As far as I am concern, her words are just that— _words_. They don't mean anything so I should not be affected by it.

Should I?

* * *

**Four weeks ago**

_The boy takes a step back, a crate still in his hands. He does not move the whole time we are staring at each other. I am tired and confused so I decide to break the silence and ask him where we are. When he answers in a different language, I am sure I am doomed. I have been through this before, but at least I had companions back then. Today, the only thing that has my back is my jacket._

_"You speak the common tongue." The boy says._

_I almost gasp in both astonishment and relief. So they do speak English!_

_"I... Yes. I don't know." I shrug at the thought. Common tongue? Exactly where in the world am I?_

_"You are not from here."_

_No, I am not. I think that is quite obvious now._

_His eyes remain focused on mine. "This is the free city of Myr."_

_Myr? I am no expert on Earth, I know. However, I am certain I haven't heard of this place yet—not from the Ark, not from the Mountain Men, and definitely not from the Grounders. My eyebrows crease and perhaps the boy takes that as an affirmation of my ignorance._

_"You are in Essos, lady. Myr is one of the nine free cities of Essos."_

_And that is the affirmation of my apparent doom._

_"D-do you..." I am hesitant to ask but I need to take a chance at least. "Do you know the way to Polis?"_

_He stares at me as if I am not making any sense then shakes his head. I nod in acknowledgement of his own cluelessness. Great. I am lost and Polis does not exists. Without another word, the boy picks up the remaining crate on the ground and heads uphill like nothing happened._

_I may be mistaken. Essos could be just another country. The world is divided in several continents anyway. I remember seeing that myself when the Ark was still in space. Earth is too big to have just twelve clans. What I am seeing right now might be another part of it._

_But why? Why am I here?_

_"Is there anything else you need, lady?"_

_I nearly trip over as the same boy halts. Briefly, we share the same questioning look before I realize I end up following him. "I... uh, I-I don't know where else to go." I confess._

_He observes me for a couple of seconds. At this point my hands are crossed. I am aware that this child could be my saving grace or my nightmare. I hope for the former._

_"Follow me." He says._

_I release the breath I am holding. Oh, thank God. Now, I just need to hope that I am walking into safety and not the opposite. It would be an unbecoming of me should I trust him that easy. Nevertheless, my options are currently limited. I need my questions to be answered before I decide what to do next._

_We walk further uphill, far from the busy market where I run away from. My newfound companion's silence is quite unsettling. I have to at least let him know I come in good terms._

_"My name is Clarke."_

_He does not turn yet I notice him look at me through his peripheral view._

_"Kalark?" He tries. His accent naturally makes his pronunciation of my name differently._

_"Close, but no. It's 'Clarke'."_

_I wait for a 'that is a weird name for a lady' remark but I am disappointed. Perhaps that is not unusual in this place called Myr. Then I learn of the boy's name—Jehari, a twelve year old apprentice to a former craftsman living at the top of the hill. Upon seeing us, the old craftsman by the name of Taga yells something in a different language. Jehari runs to him, engaging in a conversation unintelligible for me. In the end, I am allowed to enter their shabby abode._

_"That is old man Taga, my master. He no longer speak the common tongue quite well now." The boy explains as he tidy the small room. "I welcome you here on his behalf."_

_"You have no idea how grateful I am." I thank him sincerely. "It must be difficult to let a complete stranger into your house just like that."_

_"People often forget what kindness feels like." He replies. "We give, thus we receive."_

* * *

**Day 34**

With thoughts of the priestess' words last night still bugging me, I decide to keep to myself the whole dinner. My two companions are busy talking—arguing something. It is typical for old man Taga to yell. But this time, something is different. As I look up from my half full bowl of soup, Old man stands and walks to his room without another word, leaving his meal unfinished.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

Jehari purses his lips. He stares contemplatively into his cup before glancing at me.

"I may have taken your art to trade alley for appraisal." He confesses. I raise both of my eyebrows, gesturing for him to continue. "The... the merchant gave me a really good p-price." The way he stutters, I assume he is expecting me to get mad or something.

"So, what is the problem?"

Jehari looks down on his bowl. "Old man... H-he is worried that... we might not get enough materials for another."

"That's it? I was worried old man is mad."

"Well, they don't really sell that kind, you see. You made a pretty picture but it was small and it was all black. They make huge images in different colors." He gestures with his hands, trying to describe a painting.

I could not help but laugh at him. "No, I imagine not."

"You are not angry?"

"Why would I? If you can sell my work, then I'll be happy to help." I smile at him. "It's the least I can do, after what you two did for me."

The boy sighs. I notice how he finally relaxes this time. "Then it is settled. I just need to find the materials."

I give him an affirmative nod. We continue the rest of our dinner in silence... until I could not hold it, that is.

"I was out late last night." I blurt, remembering my encounter with the priestess.

The boy nods. "I know. Old man stayed up waiting, I could not. You are already waking me up too early, I won't sleep late for you as well." He breaks a bread and chews a mouthful. "Why were you out anyway? Where did you go? You know it's not safe, right?"

"I know." And yet I was too stupid to stray that far. "I was on the other side, near the temples."

"Wha—"

" _Then_ I saw this red woman," I cut him off. I know he's going to scold me anyway.

"You mean a red priestess?"

I nod. "Safe to say she was. She grabbed my arm and said something I cannot decipher until now but part of it oddly made sense."

"Maybe it was a vision."

"Perhaps. She kept on speaking even after I walk away."

"What did she say?"

_A lion shall inhale smoke as its last hope;_

_a dragon shall lay beside an unwelcoming forest;_

_a snake shall grant the sky no venom but life;_

_and he will die by the hands of a freeman._

"I don't know... Something about a lion dying I think. A lost dragon? A snake who gives life and another one dying."

"That was a messed up vision." He shakes his head. "But it sounds like noble houses in Westeros."

"Houses?"

"Yes. Families in Westeros have their own sayings and sigils. A dragon, for example, is a sigil of House Targaryen. A three-headed dragon to be exact. As for the rest, I have no idea. You need to ask someone else."

So, a Targaryen will lay beside an unwelcoming forest. It still does not make any sense.

I shake my head. "How do you know all that?"

"What? The dragon? If you were _ever_ listening, I did mention the mother of dragons before—that person is Daenerys Targaryen."

He is right. I was not paying enough attention.

"Have I told you, you are too smart for your own age?"

"No, I am too smart for a slave." A smirk creeps on his face.

After a fulfilling dinner, we bid each other a good night. Not that I expect one, really. Words of the red priestess still haunt me. Dreams of Lexa still comes every night. Uneasiness gets worse after dinner. Something is bound to happen soon—whether I am prepared for it or not.

* * *

**Day 35**

Being in Myr for over a month, I am now able to learn a word or two bastard Valyrian. I once greeted Old man Taga and he scoffed, leaning more into a positive kind than the opposite. Maybe I mispronounced the words and it meant totally different. In any case, I can say there is improvement. Besides that, I learned more about the rest of free cities of Essos. There's Braavos, where the Iron Bank and the assassin's guild called The Faceless Man are; Lorath; Norvos; Pentos, the closest city to Westeros; Qohor, known for Valyrian steel reforging smiths; Tyrosh; Lys, known for its pleasure houses; and Volantis.

Knowing these places, and that there's the rest of this world I do not know about yet, I cannot begin to think where I should go—if I should go, that is.

I need to figure this out soon.

A ruckus outside Old man's house interrupts my soliloquy. We seldom get passersby, let alone visitors, so it definitely is a surprise to hear someone else. I make my way to the door to find out what is it about but Old man Taga grabs my arm. He shakes his head slightly.

" _Wrong?_ " I take my chances with my limited bastard Valyrian vocabulary.

The old man whispers something, none of which I understand. He probably notices it, thus the finger over his lips, telling me to shut up. So I did. I could easily tell what is wrong if only I could understand all of them. Fuck it, I am learning their language as soon as possible.

Around thirty minutes pass since the sound of footsteps outside fade away, Jehari comes barging through the door. The way he gasps for air, it is safe to assume that he has been running. Old man Taga rushes to the room and starts yelling. ' _Stupid_ ', ' _slave_ ', ' _master_ ', and 'Lys' are few of the words I could decipher. They continue arguing until I could no longer stay silent.

"What is happening?" I ask Jehari.

Old man glares at his young apprentice before storming out of the room. Face palm, the boy shakes his head. He keeps pacing to and fro. "Nothing, it's just..." A sigh. "I am having troubles with some merchant."

"Was that you outside earlier?"

He sits on a wooden chair, his hands restless against his knees.

"Jehari, talk to me."

He swallows hard before finally speaking up.

"Remember when I said I took your painting to a merchant?" Still not looking at my direction. "I did that. But the man accused me of stealing it from another artist. I told him, I know someone who can make those paintings for less. He said he will think about it."

"When we met earlier, he had two sellswords with him. I got scared so I ran but they followed me anyway. He kept on asking where the painter is, said he wants to make business personally and not through some slave."

I half kneel near him. "Why didn't you let me talk to them? I could have negotiated something."

"You don't understand, _Kalark_. These people... when they see a slave, they see money. When they see a woman, they see a whore. That is how they do business." A sob escapes his lips. Once again, he puts his hands to his face. "Old man said we cannot protect you, us being poor and powerless. Once they see you, they will take you and sell you somewhere else—to Lys, to a Lord, take you for themselves as a wife, or just..."

A tears fall from his eyes. "I am sorry, _Kalark_. I did not mean for it to end this way." He looks up to me with pleading eyes. "I just thought you paint well."

Just when I believe I am holding up fine, reality hits me. Of course, people like them exist in this place. I am not on vacation. I am struggling to blend in this world that is not mine. Things can go wrong and they will.

My fight is not over.

"Listen," The apprentice wipes his nose. "You need to leave, now."

"No, Jehari, I can't just leave you and old man." I argue. "What do you think those people will do to you if they come back and you fail to present them a... painter?"

"I don't know. But you will leave anyway. It is no longer safe for you here." Jehari speaks as he pulls an old sling bag from a cabinet. He goes to the kitchen and fills the bag with a flask and bread. "You should head to Braavos, that's northeast from here, but you need to be careful because you will pass through Lys. Or you can go to Westeros."

"What about you and Old man Taga?" The apprentice hands me the bag. "Shouldn't we all go together? It's not safe for you either."

As I mention his name, the Old man appears out of his room. He walks over to me and places a pouch in my hand. It is small and yet not filled, only a few coins inside. Then I realize, this must be what they have left. And yet he is giving it to me. Overwhelmed, I could feel tears in my eyes.

"No," I push it back to him. "I cannot take it."

Old man faces me. " _Please_." He says. " _Good fortune_." My heart breaks a little upon hearing his words and understanding it. He turns on his back and enters his room before I could say anything more.

"Here." Jehari takes my arm and inserts a small dagger up my sleeve. "It should be small enough to conceal easily."

Not knowing what else to say, I pull him to an embrace. He stiffens and later relaxes. "Come, _Kalark_. Maybe the red priestess saw something good in your future."

The apprentice leads the way to the back door. From here, I can either walk downhill, aboard a ship that leaves for King's Landing or Dorne, or walk to the other side of the hill where I can find a ride to Braavos. It is not an easy decision to make especially since I have no idea what I lies ahead of me.

"This is where you part, _Kalark_. I wish you good fortune." He bids goodbye.

I gaze at him with teary eyes. I am beyond grateful to these people—that I will never forget.

"May we meet again."

* * *

After the fall of Mount Weather, I decided to leave Arkadia. I needed time and space to face the guilt of the burden I took upon myself. I wandered into the wild, lived in it, and became one with it. There was momentary peace yet danger was eminent. It was the wild after all. The point was, I managed. I made it through, for months, because I was determined to stay alive despite the reason I had for bailing. It was unclear for me why, at the time. But it felt like it was the right choice—to stay alive.

At this point, I am faced with a decision to take one of two paths with seemingly identical result—to be lost in the north or to be lost in the west. With a small bag of food and a pouch with a few Myrish coins, it is possible that I may reach either of the two destinations. There is no guarantee of its length nor its safety. I may end up as a slave somewhere else, or something worse.

But the question does not concern any of that, does it?

_Follow your heart and you will not stray._

Her voice was calm and confident as if she was comforting me. Now that I think of it... Those were not words of goodbye. If it were, I would have felt it. I would have known. Every night, I hear her voice in my dream, saying the same words. A nightly farewell would be a cruel goodbye, wouldn't it? Not unless those weren't parting words, rather words of encouragement.

Lexa wants me to live on.

For we shall meet again.

I turn on my heel and pivot to the exact opposite direction of where I was headed to (which was nowhere, to be honest). If I am to make a decision, it would be what my heart truly desires. I cannot take an old man's savings or a young man's breakfast, knowing it can put them in utter misery. People often forget what kindness feels like. Who am I to stay as a stranger to that?

The sun nearly kiss the sea as I reach the top of the hill. There is a fear of the unknown, but for some reason I am as calm as can be. At the sight of old man's house, I then feel my heart skips a beat. So much for the calm before the storm. Hastily, I make my way to the backdoor.

You better not be late, Clarke.

" _You...die...great pain...boy_."

Shit.

I try to pull the door open but is unsuccessful. It is locked from inside. Even the windows to the kitchen are close.

" _...scare...all...lie_."

That is Jehari's voice. He speaks in between gasps of air. This definitely not good. Those men must be the sellswords who went after him earlier. Now they return to take what they were owed. Desperate to find a way in, I go around and find myself standing near the front door. But instead of barging in, I patiently knock on the door. I just hope it is not too late, yet.

No answer.

"Old man," I say. I lift my hand once more, preparing to knock again.

It turns out I do not need to, as the door opens slightly. One would normally run and ask for help in such situation, but I am no ordinary. And the decisions I make are that with severe consequences for myself—if not for a large number of population.

With a deep breath, I push the door and walk in.

"You told me—"

A man grabs me from behind and presses a knife against my jugular. " _Silence...throat_."

Well, I doubt he will cut my throat sometime sooner.

A man wearing an armor, most probably similar to the one holding me, has his sword across Jehari's neck. Old man is nowhere to be seen and that is not a pleasant information. Another man appears to my left, where I was previously blindsided. He appears to be one of those merchants in trade alley, only with better clothes—and worse intentions, I must say.

"Who might you be?" He asks as he moves closer.

As much as I want to break free and smash his skull, I could not. My eyes wander to the young apprentice who no longer struggles in his feat. He is too beaten to move.

"My name is Clarke." I turn to the man. "I am here to talk to old man and Jehari about the paintings."

He study me closely. "Painting, huh." Seemingly unconvinced, the man continues with his queries. "And where did you come from, _Klark_?" He has a different accent.

My eyes gaze to Jehari who weakly shakes his head. No, I don't think it is wise to be honest right now.

"Wouldn't you like to know? I came from where everything was considered art." I spat.

He chuckles. "That sounds like a perfect place. You have a very good imagination, girl."

"Try me, then. You are a businessman. You should know when something is worth a penny or not."

"Indeed." The man smirks. He moves even closer. "But you see, I do not make business arrangements with a slave, more so a whore." The back of his hand touches my face. "I sell them instead."

I struggle in my captor's hold upon hearing that word. The sellsword tightens his grip. "I am not a whore."

"Hm," The man ignores my words. "Pale skin, golden hair. Unfortunately, it is too dim to see the color of your eyes, but beautiful nonetheless. Wouldn't you say, Akhma?" He turns to the sellsword near Jehari.

"Feisty. I'd love me some tight cunt." He sneers.

My blood boils as I listen to their conversation. No wonder Jehari and old man wanted me to leave. This place surely is not the safest for a woman. Sadly, they got the wrong one.

The merchant chuckles. "Of course, as would hundreds of other men and women in all Seven Kingdoms. But this," He turns back to me. "...this one may trace its heritage back to old Valyria."

"Lysene?"

"Perhaps. What do you say, _Klark_? How did you escape Lys?" I glare at him and keep my mouth shut. "Ah, never mind. I will not take you back there. I have other client for you."

"S-she can paint… like no one else in whole Myr, I-I already told you that." Jehari speaks, blood drips from nose and lips. Without a word, Akhma hit him in the head with the back of his sword.

"No!" I scream. "Stop! Just... Just tell me what I have to do and leave him."

The merchant stares at old man's beaten apprentice, seeming pondering. "I suppose we can leave him out of this. That slave won't last long in his condition, especially with his master gone."

"W-wait, what?!" I grit my teeth and the man laughs in response.

 _"Let's go."_ The man instructs. I cough as the sellsword releases his grip, lowering his knife. Before I fully can recover, Akhma pulls a sack and place over my head. A hit to my stomach then everything goes into a blur.

* * *

The smell of salt is no longer strange for me. It is one of the many things I got used to during my stay in Myr. The sound of Seagulls flying around, of waves crashing against a ship… It is an experience similar to when we met Luna and her Boat people—except for actually feeling seasick.

Something hard hit my face and I groan. Opening my eyes does little good since a sack still covers my head. I can see through tiny holes on it but I am too nauseous to make sense of anything. My hands are bound behind me, so are my feet. My back rests against hard wood.

Where the hell am I?

The world seems to move and I stumble to the side. I think I haven't feel this much nauseated my whole life. I fight my urge to throw up. The last thing I want is to have vomit all over my face.

I hear the sound of wood creaking from nearby. By this time, I am certain I am on board a ship, sailing in the sea.

To where I am headed, I have no idea.

* * *

**To be continued...**

 


	3. Lexa I (Her rebirth in Summer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's not the only one trapped in an alternate world. What adventure awaits Lexa?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update was sitting in my drafts for far too long. I just had to post it although I am still uncertain whether I should continue. This chapter was cut in half, and so you're sure to get the other half someday. Maybe. We'll see. 
> 
> \--
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters and places related to The 100 and Game of Thrones mentioned herein belong to their respective owners.

**Lexa I**

**Her rebirth in Summer**

 

“ _Yu gonplei ste odon_.”

It is a shame that the last words he will ever hear are not of his own tongue. His legacy will be tainted by losing to a mysterious stranger, more so a woman. It is not my intention to bloody my hands in this land that is not my own. But neither is dying even before I discover what the purpose of my re-existence is.

I walk away from the bloody mess in the middle of the forest that served as our battlefield. The night grows deeper, and my wounds get number. I can barely feel my left leg as I head toward the road leading to another clearing. Blood drips almost everywhere—both mine and his. If this is just the beginning, I could not imagine what else I am supposed to prove in the coming days.

Reaching the other side of tall tropical trees feels like a victory in itself. The forest is enormous and the walk must be at least fifteen minutes—in my condition that is. I won wars before, challenges and even my conclave, yet none of those prepared me for this exhaustion.

Perhaps, my strength is limited because the spirit of the Commander is no longer with me. What is left now is a piece of the person whom Anya trained to perfection and the same who died so the Commander can rise.

As a mere warrior who is broken and damned, I expect nothing from the people who put us there in the battlefield. At this point, I do not care. All I know is I am alive. I am nowhere, and my fight is definitely not over.

* * *

  ** _Forty hours ago_**

Sunlight shines brightly in between my fingers as I lift my hand above my face. The air is cool and it almost chills me the first time it breezes against my body. Through my peripheral, I see rows of vast palm trees. Roaming around freely above are seagulls.

 _I must be near a coast._ _Is this another land of dreams?_

Something must have gone wrong. My body rots, and my spirit lives—that is how it should be. The persona that is Lexa should be gone, as is the land of dreams where I last saw her.

She who now has the spirit of the Commander.

She who became an important part of my being.

 _Ai gonplei ste odon_ —my fight was over.

Yet here I am.

As the thought sinks in, I bolt right up. I look around and confirmed my assumption. I am, indeed, on the shore. Nearby stand several structures that make up what seems to be a port. I brush the remaining grains of sand on my armor as I stand. I have no idea of my whereabouts. But I do know where to begin. I just hope that whoever occupies this land would be hospitable, or reasonable in the very least. If not, then I better hold on my swords tightly.

* * *

Scouting the area becomes more of a sightseeing. This place appears to be a lot different than ours. Remnants of the past wars remained in our every dwelling. Each land had its own reminder of the chaos that my people endured for the past century. We were mere survivors of a catastrophe—unlike them. They seem to have built everything from the ground. Their buildings are made of sand bricks, neatly constructed and evenly arranged—all without any mark of a warfare.

The residents appear to be of only one heritage. Ebony skin peek from their summer clothing and colorful cloaks hang over their shoulders. Clearly, my dark armor is out of place.

I feel a soft tug at the bottom of my cloak. Instinctively, my hands dart up to grasp the swords behind my back. But I stop midway as I turn and find a child no less than five years able to walk. His mother, I assume, shouts something unintelligible from seven feet away and rushes toward us. The woman bows her head and pulls the child who is struggling to break free. The way she handles the child, I see no intention to injure him—only to keep him away from a stranger that is myself. And as such, the child is able to escape his mother’s grasp and runs back to me. I watch him tug my armor one more time with his right hand as the other reach up behind me. I kneel on one leg to gather what the child is after. A wide smile reveals his small white teeth upon reaching his target—my sword. He erupts into giggles as he plays with it (sword holder, mind you. I am not crazy enough to let a toddler touch a blade).

I couldn’t help the smile that curves on my face while watching such innocent being.

“I am so sorry, my lady.” The woman approaches with anxiety painted on her face. Her accent is thick but clear enough for me to understand. “I should not have let him do such thing, he is not worthy.”

“Please, do not apologize. Your little boy does me no harm.” I assure her with a soft smile. The child’s giggling fit carries on and us adults share a bit of chuckle ourselves. “And I am not quite sure I am fit for such title.” I continue after the laughter die down. The woman’s eyebrows seem to meet in confusion but nods nonetheless.

“Aha!” A man cries nearby.

Not a second later, I draw one sword using my free hand as I stand and face his direction. My right hand keeping the boy in a safe distance. Bewildered, the bald man takes a couple of steps back with his hands up in surrender. I keep my guard up and my stance firm. The ruckus attracts more people; man, woman, and children. One by one, they flock the narrow street we stand on. From what I notice, none of them are armed. Nothing visible at least. Their numbers slowly grows and should I need to defend myself, it would difficult.

_Difficult, not impossible._

But is it wise?

Before I can come to a conclusion, the crowd wildly applause. They shout and cheer, each and every one of them. It is beyond baffling. I, however, manage to keep my composure. Unhurriedly, I return the sword behind my back. I keep my chin up as I stand down.

“Magnificent!” The bald man praises, walking closer with each clap. “Now, settle down everyone. We do not want to overwhelm our guest, do we?” As the man asks, the crowd dispels in a matter of seconds. A few people still glancing, nodding my way. My first acquaintances, the mother and child, still lingers not too far behind. “So sorry about that. We rarely have visitors with such stature here in our small island. I am _Lu Rho_ , servant of _Prince Hakhi Ja_. Welcome to _Ebonhead Port_.” He lowers his head in what appears to be a curtsy. The people nearby does the same, showing their marvelous cloaks of various colors.

As the curtsy ends, Lu Rho looks up to me with his hands hanging ahead. “If you would, my lady…”

I nod slightly, as his permission. Before I follow the bald man, I glance behind and give the mother and child the same gesture. The woman curtsy while the child in her arms reaches out and giggles. I'm not sure if following this man is the best idea, but since he seems to know what he is doing, I would rather play along to keep anyone from noticing my cluelessness as to my whereabouts, let alone my existence.

The Ebonhead port, as the man explains, is the southernmost port of _Sweet Lotus Vale_ in _Jhala_. These people, called the _Summer Islanders_ , export gemstones, spices and hardwoods, even exotic animals to far lands of Westeros and Essos. True enough, the streets are overflowing with crates and barrels full of goods. There are some men, probably traders, who are obviously not local to this island since they wear different clothing and their features are far from that of Summer Islander’s. Nevertheless, none of them look as foreign as I do.

After making a turn, a stunning view of three vast ships with equally large white sails disembark at the docks. Its figurehead seems to resemble a bird with long beak. The man would not stop talking about how lucky I am to board such majestic vessel. Of course, he would assume I came here through that ship. That is the only viable explanation so far.

“Pardon me, my lady, may I ask why visit our petty island?”

The question does not come unexpected, yet I have not prepared a specific answer for it.

“Why not?” My quick response.

The man lowers his head once more. “We are humbled by your gesture, my lady. Perhaps there is business that requires your presence?”

I consider every possibilities before I decide to simply tell part of the truth.

“I-I am looking for... _someone_.”

“Ah! A marriage proposal, is it? There are plenty of eligible princes and princesses in whole Jhala, but none of them are as suitable to your magnificence as Prince Hakhi Ja.” Proud, the bald man insists. I roll my eyes whilst he is not looking.

I am not sure I favor where this conversation is going but as of the time being, this is a plausible source of all things I may need in the future. If I want answers, I need to seek them out.

After several blocks, of people bowing and glancing my way, we reach an establishment unlike any other we passed before. A carving with water sprouting upward lies in front of it. This time, there are warriors around. Perhaps this is where the so-called Prince I so deserve is dwelling. I cringe at the thought of it.

_Focus, Leksa._

The bald man leads into the entryway, but I hesitate for a moment.

Is this a wise decision?

To simply follow a stranger with no guarantee whatsoever? To be in the middle of an unknown crowd in a strange land? To possibly fall prey to some foreign royalty who might be as savage as Queen Nia or worse? To be brave and face whatever is ahead because you no longer have thousands of people relying on you?

* * *

**_Thirty seven hours ago_ **

Entering someone else's domain is not uncommon for me. To unite the Twelve clans, I had to pursue each of them—by force or through negotiation. Either way, I personally visited each territories and left with them under my rule.

This particular situation does not seem to differ from such. I seek answers for my limitless questions and should it demand that I conquer this place, I would. But I have to be smart. I am obviously at the losing end of my own battle. I have nothing besides the knowledge of my past that does not seem to exist in this place. I am a one-man army with two swords behind my back.

Again, it would be difficult, not impossible.

I follow Lu Rho into the fancy building. As per the servant, the place is called a _brothel_ —or in a language I can understand, it is a pleasure house. This surprises me a little. Its existence does not surprise me, as I have been to similar places before as the former Commander— _strictly_ business though.

Two guards stop us as we reach a certain door.

"You must hand over your weapon, my lady. It is only protocol, nothing to be worried about." The servant explains with an assuring smile.

Internally, I debate whether or not I should trust these people. These swords are the only possessions that matter to me as of the time being. Should I lose it over bad judgement, it could be the end of me. Nevertheless, I should not forget my reasons. No one can win blindly. I need to prove that my intentions are nothing provocative... for now.

I hand them my swords reluctantly, although none of the two guards actually receive it. Confused, I placed it on the floor next to the door.

"Do not take offense, my lady. Summer Islanders do not touch weapons of another—specially swords. It must be earned, not simply handed over." Lu Rho explains as we enter the previously prohibited door.

“Such noble country." I respond without looking.

* * *

Women of different ages and proportions—and beauty—enter the room. All six of them wear the same kind of silk robe bearing green and silver linings. One by one, they approach the platform to plant a kiss on the prince’s ring as he sits on an upholstered lounge. Most of them have a repugnant look on their faces, probably due to the fact that Lu Rho have yet to stop talking about marriage proposals since he first mentioned it. Oddly enough, there is one woman who does not seem to share the same sentiment as her companions. Her expression is far from the piercing looks of the other women. She stares at a distance, her mind absent from what is happening in this very room.

I drop my stare from the woman and keep the rest of my observations subtle.

Lu Rho bows before his master. “Your highness, I present to you...” Realizing he does not know what my name is, the servant glances at my direction.

“I am _Leksa kom Trikru_ ,” I speak quickly upon noticing the servant’s stare. With his head still lowered, Lu Rho makes weird face expression while mouthing words toward my direction. _Ah, of course_. “Your... highness.” I add half-heartedly.

Seemingly satisfied, Hakhi Ja eases on his chair. A slight smirk tugs his lips before he speaks in his own language. “His highness welcomes you. What business does the lady brings?” A female servant standing at the leftmost edge of the platform translates.

Lu Rho steps forward, his hands clasped together. He looks proud as he explains something in his own tongue, occasionally gesturing toward my direction. The prince grins viciously. Most of the five women around him look more dubious than before.

“His highness would like to introduce his six paramours, all of varying beauty and talent.” The servant translates.

The prince approaches the women one by one. “This,” He speaks in an almost unintelligible accent. “... Mikali. Most beauty, skin most smooth.” The woman standing by the end of the lounge bats an eye and kisses the prince on the lips. “This Mona, very flexible.” The prince moves on to the next one after spanking the second woman.

There’s a former warrior whose talent lies on having the best stamina, a serenader who is the loudest among all six of them and a daughter of a former princess from a different island who is best in intimacy with another woman. Finally, there is Leelin who is the youngest and most naive based on the prince’s description. The young woman winces as the prince touches her. The man ignores the reluctance and carries on with the groping.

“Prince Hakhi Ja would like to know what you can offer him that his current lovers cannot—besides your foreign physic and mysterious demeanour that does not appeal to his highness’ liking.”

 _Death_ —that is the first thing that comes to my mind. I would offer him his life but I have never seen anyone treat women this lowly—like a prized possession. I do not think he deserves life at all. Then again, I am in his domain. I have to act and respond accordingly or else...

“You can offer him your sword as a gift, if you so lack the talent for love making.” Lu Rho whispers quite loudly. The few of those who can understand the language do not mind hiding their giggles. I grit my teeth. 

 _Twice_.

That is the second and the last insult I will get from these people. They dare mock me because they are unaware of who I am. I guess this it is time to show them what I can do. I am without my swords but I can take a gamble and make them suffer here and now.

 _Calm yourself, Leksa_.

“So?” Hakhi Ja boringly utters.

“Nothing.” I begin. The room turns silent. Everyone stares at me confusedly except the servants—their faces show bewilderment. “I offer him nothing. I came here looking for someone. Clearly, that someone is not this prince of yours. Please, excuse me.”

I would take my leave right then but Lu Rho halts me.

“You cannot simply leave after asking an audience with the Prince.” He whispers.

“I may have insinuated an audience with your so-called prince, but I did not intend to be one of his lovers—or his sexual playtoy for that matter.”

The servant partly gasps. “Forgive me, my lady. I assumed you would be interested in no less than a highborn and I was mistaken.”

“Never assume to know what I want.” I respond sternly.

“Then, who else would a lady like yourself might you be looking for?”

Caught off-guard, I stare at him speechless. Who am I looking for? For a moment, my mind goes blank. What am I even doing here? It takes a couple more seconds before it returns to me. An image of a person flashes before my eyes. Her blonde hair flows freely against the wind, caressing her scarred fair skin. A chiselled jaw caters to a prominently beautiful face.

Oceanic blue orbs stares directly into mine.

How can I forget?

 _Clarke_.

Guilt pangs through my chest. Back when I was the Commander, I made an oath. I swore fealty to this person. I pledged that I will always be with her. And if I am not, I am bound by my vow to find her. It is not a duty that I am obliged to do rather a promise of one soul to another.

Forgetting such is simply unforgivable.

Prince Hakhi Jha interrupts our small argument. As expected of someone in his position, he feels insulted of the current situation. Ruefully, Lu Rho turns to face his master. The latter, however, is already fuming in anger.

"You dare insult his highness at his most vulnerable state," The servant translates as Hakhi Ja yells. _Wait, what?_ "Prince Hakhi Ja would like to issue a challenge to the outlander." 

* * *

**_Thirty three hours ago_ **

_Summer Isles_ , sometimes called Summer Islands, is an archipelago found south of Westeros and Essos—two prominent continents in the Known World. Similar to the rest of the world, Summer Islanders have their own religions. Some of them, especially people residing in the northern island of Walano, worship the Talking Trees. Here in Jhala, they honor the Goddess of Fertility. As such, they have high regard for the act of love making. Not only is it an important skill, it is holy above all. For that reason, prostitution is considered a noble profession. Highborns like Prince Hakhi Ja practice it without a hint of shame.

Now everything that happened hours ago made sense.

"...and you are telling me that just now." I turn to Lu Rho who sits directly opposite of me. We are in what serves to be a holding room inside a Temple. It is not empty rather decent with its interior decorations including the image of a sixteen-teat goddess.

"Apologize, truly." The servant responds. "I was unaware that you have little knowledge of our culture, my lady."

"You can drop the formality now, Lu Rho. I am not a highborn."

"Now that you mentioned it, my la—"

"Leksa, just Leksa." I correct him.

The servant smiles. "Very well, Leksa. May I ask where you came from? I would say Volantis, given your tanned skin but your wardrobe reflects none of their traditional clothing. Also, I'd rather not assume anything."

Although my lips part, no words come out of it. What should I say? I came from Polis, where I used to rule as the Commander? Or that I was in the land of dreams, where all former Commanders dwell? I would sound crazy considering how different their lifestyle is.

"I travelled far." Is all I say.

Accepting my response, Lu Rho slightly nods.

Uncomfortable with the silence, I stand and look out of the wide window. Right after Prince Hakhi Ja issued a challenge, Lu Rho and I were escorted to the Temple. Apparently, the prince was insulted when I turned my back on him, and by association, his 'love making skills'. As his servant explained, it is a highly regarded skill in this island And for a prince to be turned down, that is an utmost disrespect.

Prince Hakhi Ja hopes to lift his tainted ego by issuing a challenge against me. It turns out that this country is more peaceful than I thought. Should a fight arise out of an agreement, no war between independent kingdoms will ensue. Instead, a battle will be ritualized by a priest or priestess involving only the people directly involved.

"Whoever it is you are looking for, I hope they will understand should you fail to reach them in time." Lu Rho utters.

"You are making an assumption yet again, servant."

The servant smiles. "I am merely stating a fact, Leksa. Wars may take days and more than one life at times. I have nothing to say against you as I have not seen you fight. But I have seen Prince Hakhi Ja. It will not end up pretty." He explains. "And my name is Lu Rho, I believe I already told you that."

I have pictured my death too many times. To die in a challenge is not news for me. But to die again is definitely something I won’t allow to happen.

"You are right about one thing, Lu Rho.” I glance at him. “You have not seen me fight."

* * *

**_Twenty five hours ago_ **

At first light, the priestess from the Temple outside Ebonhead Port administers the ritual for the war. As expected of a priestess for the temple of goddess of fertility, she is quite a beauty. Unlike most islanders, she wears a simple white silk robe. A white band embroidered with flowers wraps around her neck.

"In lieu of the Summer oath ‘Blood of Honor’, no war endangering innocent lives shall ever transpire in these lands.” The priestess begins. “To settle a matter, today, Prince Hakhi Ja of northeast Sweet Lotus Vale challenges an outlander named Leksa kom Trikru.”

As our names are called, I glance at the crowd. Unexpectedly, hundreds of people await outside the Temple. _Ha_. This is the _small_ audience Lu Rho referred to back in the holding room. What surprises me even more is the way they behave all throughout the ritual. No cheers or boos—only occasional nods and shaking of heads.

“To remind the prince and inform the outlander, only a wooden spear and a sling may be used in war. There is no restriction as to time or manner of winning, so long as only the weapons allowed will be used. Any and all possessions and titles of the defeated shall be rewarded to the victorious. And should the loser survive the war, they will be exiled out of Summer Isles, never to return.” The priestess translates the words right after speaking in their own language.

If Prince Hakhi Ja expects me to cower over the severity of it all, he is mistaken. In this lands, I am basically a nobody. My swords may be worth more than myself. But other than that, I have nothing to lose—not that I am willing to. I will never go down without a fight.

“Does the outlander accept the prince’s challenge?” Everyone turns to me. The murmurs and whispers at the crowd fade away.

I nod at the inquiring priestess. I do not have to think twice before agreeing to the whole situation. “Yes, I accept.” It earns a wide grin from the prince standing on the other side of the stage.

“Very well.”

The priestess gestures toward another white-robed woman nearby. She takes the prince’s left hand, cut his palm and drops a few blood into a small wooden basin. When she does the same to me, a hint of horror appears on her face upon seeing droplets of black blood. The priestess looks up to me with a curious look then continue on the ritual.

“The war will be held at the Sanguine Woodland within an hour.” The priestess lifts the wooden basin containing our blood. “May there be honor in their blood.”

* * *

We march toward the forest roughly half an hour away on-foot from the temple. Prince Hakhi Ja’s paramours and servants no longer walk behind him. Only a handful of warriors and templar servants join us in our short journey to the battlefield.

“Honor must be important wherever it is you come from.” Lu Rho catches up. I glance at him curiously. “You do not have to prove anything here, yet you accepted the challenge without thinking twice.”.

I face forward, remembering the time Clarke and I had a confrontation back in Polis. “It was something I personally valued,” _You have no honor and I had no choice_. “...and lost at the course of duty.”

“Curious, very curious. You must have had quite a history, Leksa.”

“Why do you keep on following me, Lu Rho? Won’t your master have you killed for treason?”

The servant almost laugh. “By the gods, no. The moment he challenged you, all of his servants and paramours are freed, unbound from his authority until he regains his honor.”

He clears his throat. “Or until you defeat him and take over everything he owns.”

“I have no desire on any of his properties.”

“Perhaps, but whatever he has may help you find the person you are looking for.”

Difficult but not impossible.

“Perhaps.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes before the war begins, warriors hand each of us a wooden spear and a sling. They speak in their own language, probably reminding us of the rules previously explained by the priestess. As soon as we are geared, they escort us to Sanguine Woodland—a large forest with a clearing as huge as half of its size. A small pond sits on the middle of it. Prince Hakhi Ja stands on the west while I am on the east.

The warriors who escorted us into our respective positions exit the clearing. Within minutes, Prince Hakhi Ja and I are left alone in the middle of Sanguine Woodland. Only nature will serve as our audience. How or when someone dies, no one else would know but the victorious, for only they will walk out of this vast forest alone.

Any second now, this man and I will fight for our lives. They said cultural beliefs and traditions brought us here. But in reality, it was merely a man’s ego. To be fair, I really have no knowledge of these people. And I could not learn the same in such short time.

A loud bang erupts from outside the forest. A flock of birds flies away from the thick trees north of the forest. Could it be the signal?

As soon as I face forward, I realize I barely have a split second to avoid a stone fired my way by my opponent. It misses but not entirely. A small cut bleeds on my left cheek.  
Damn it, Leksa.

I grit my teeth, glaring at Prince Hakhi Ja. He is about five yards away. Still, I could clearly see the proud smug painted on his face. I grip the wooden sword tightly. Don’t think you can get away with this. After a few seconds of a staring, of sizing up each other, we both launch forward.

And the war begins.

* * *

**_Fifteen hours ago_ **

The Commander of Twelve Clans must not only be undefeated in battle, they must also be excellent tacticians. Brute force can only take one so far. Without the mind, even the strongest may go down easily.

In this war, I have learned a few things.

Prince Hakhi Ja has decent close combat skills. But he is better from a distance. In fact, most warriors I saw in Ebonhead Port bore wooden bow and arrow while some had wooden spears. That would explain why their battlefield needs to be as huge as Sanguine Woodland. Summer Islanders are ranged fighters. They are precise and patient. No wonder Lu Rho mentioned how wars could sometimes take days. It is usually between two rangers. And if one is not careful, they can drop dead even from afar.

Had I known of this earlier, I would not have let him distance himself.

The moment out spears clash, I feel how strong my opponent is. This is no surprise since Prince Hakhi Ja is taller and has larger body than myself.

In this case, I have to be fast.

_We surge forward at the same time. He parry’s my downward strike so I switch to a thrust to his abdomen—an attack he easily reads as he redirects to the left side. This time, I have a momentum to set up a strike. The prince smirks and blocks the strike to his head._

_Prepared to counter a low threat, I steady my hands but he aims for my chest instead. If I am not fast enough to step back, that would have been a fatal blow._

_After regaining my composure, I make the first move, thrusting the spear to his chest. He blocks the attack and slips his spear downward. I pull back and feints to his head which he parrys yet again. The prince feints low and switches fast high to strike my chest. This time, he is successful._

_The cut stings as he pulls his spear back. It’s not deep but it is definitely not shallow either. I have to fight harder if I want to win this._

_Noticing my wound, Prince Hakhi Ja steps forward, taking advantage of the situation. I parry his attack with one hand then he switches to launch an upward strike. I, however, have better momentum. So as soon as his spear slides up I thrust forward, hitting his nose and cheek just below his right eye._

_That hit must have angered the prince since soon after, he continuously strikes—fast and hard. I have no choice but to keep blocking. As a result, we move from the middle of the forest to near the western edge where trees are thick. Even worse, I hear my spear nearly break as he strikes down with so much power. I flip to the side, avoiding a feint to my left. The attacks keep on coming, aiming for another fatal blow that will hit. After I parry a strike to my head, I roll forward to close our distance. I may have catch a glimpse of surprise in my opponent’s face but my focus is on hitting his mid abdomen multiple times, hoping to damage his liver and left kidney in the very least. He pulls his weapon up and hits the ground where I was a second ago with the end of his spear._

_Visibly hurt, Prince Hakhi Ja still launches forward. It is an easy thrust to block. I am even able to hit him again in the abdomen and sweep the back of his legs, sending his back flat to the ground and his weapon about twelve feet away._

_He groans upon realizing what happened. Blood gush out of his mouth. Catching my breath, I point my spear against his neck. The prince looks at me, his face unreadable—that is beside the blood on it. Perhaps this is how it ends now. I winning over the prince, and him being exiled away from his land. I don’t need to kill him, he just needs to accept defeat._

_Something that I totally misread._

_Of course he would not go down easy._

_As soon as his expression changes, I knew he has something up his sleeve. But before I could react, he already throw dust to my face, temporarily blinding me. I should have known he would resort to that same trick I used against Prince Rohan._

_I grip on my spear tightly with one hand, swinging it around to prevent him from making contact._

_So much for a happy ending, I guess._

_Much to my surprise, the prince is out of sight by the time I am able to open my eyes and see quite blurry. The sun is already up and the heat is not helping my situation. I lift my spear up, on guard for any attack. But for sometime there was none. I take the opportunity to pick the prince’s lost weapon._

_Out of nowhere, something blunt hit the back of my knee. The force sends me down on one knee while I hold on to the spear I just pick up. As expected, that hit surely lead into bleeding._

_Sling!_

_I better take cover._

_Despite the pain, I stand up, clutching to the spear to steady myself. Based on the trajectory, Prince Hakhi Ja is somewhere on the western side where I almost had him. I can close our distance and perhaps corner him, but I am too far. My best choice would be to run to the other, closer side of the forest._

_I hear a low swish from afar and within seconds, another projectile hit the ground behind me. I run west, hoping to take refuge under the protection of thick trees in time._

_After nine hours, we remain on a stand still. Fortunately, my wounds are not fatal and so I do not have to worry about them for at least a few more hours before I bleed to death. The same goes for Prince Hakhi Ja. But why choose to distance himself instead of killing me right then and there? He would not risk fighting closely. It could mean one thing—he is heavily injured to the point of impairment. If he is, then how is he able to still throw almost accurate sling shots?_

_Going out into the clearing is a bad idea. I tried it twice a few hours ago and as soon as I step out of the shade, a stone almost hit me. Yes, after all these time, he is still watching me._

_At this point, I have one option. It plays along their game of patience and I am confident that it will work out._

* * *

_**Three hours ago** _

Four-legged goose, three-tailed panther, two-headed deer and one giant pauna. I remember that mantra when I was young. Counting animals was how I passed the time back then. Today, I count my breath, and thanking each one of them.

Several hours ago, I set up my play. So far, everything works the way it should be. Nothing was thrown my way when I basically crawled from eastern side of the forest to southeast, keeping just enough distance from where I was. Oddly, he has not moved one bit—or three hours ago at least. Perhaps he really is damaged.

As the sun goes down in the west, rays of sunlight flashes across, directly hitting the eastern side of the forest.

I hold my breath and grip the spear.

It is time.

Within seconds, sunlight reaches my target–the metal buckle of my cloak. I had it attached to the other spear, near of the trees one row behind the clearing. I watch the western side, waiting for the Prince to make a move.

And he does.

As soon as the light hits the metal, it reflects, making somewhat a signal to the other side where Prince Hakhi Ja is. He takes the bait. Shortly, another projectile flies across the clearing and into the other side where my cloak is. How he manages to hit it accurately baffles me. His condition should be worsening, not the other way around.  
After a couple more minutes, the prince finally reveals himself. He limps as he walks out of the thick trees and into the clearing. His face seems to be covered with dried blood. The sun no longer illuminates the sky, and at this point, one can only manage to make up shapes in this light.

When he almost reach the trap, I prepare myself. With my remaining strength, I throw the spear rapidly into his chest. I hit my target and the prince falls backward with a loud thud. He coughs blood, his eyes unfocused. The smug he used to wear oh so proudly is gone.  
He started this war, and I have to finish it.

The proud prince gasps then mouths words I could not make out. Before he take his last breath, I pull the spear off his chest and thrust it against his head.

_Yu gonplei ste odon._

* * *

_**Present** _

The feeling of warm breeze wakes me up. It is not the weather, rather the wonder of sensation that hits my bare skin. Opening my eyes, I see a familiar room with flower ornaments and a unique clay statue. I am inside the temple. I try to sit up and I feel the pain as I do. There is a bandage across my chest, and another on my stomach. Moving further, I notice that my left leg is compromised as well. Everything hurts but if I try, I believe I can get out of here.

“You’re awake.” The priestess appears at the door, her head lowered as I turn to her direction. Remembering my condition, I feel the need to cover myself with a non-existent blanket. “Try not to move so much, princess. It will only prolong your wounds’ healing.”

_Princess?!_

“What did you call me?”

The priestess frowns. “You don’t remember?”

_One by one, bystanders along the path lowers their heads as I pass them by. Although in pain, I manage to control my quivers. My sight slightly blurs, due to both tiredness and heat. I am uncertain where the path would leave, but quite frankly I do not care. With the Spirit of the Commander gone, I hate to admit that I am weaker. Still, I must survive._

_“...and alas, blood has answered honor! Let us welcome the victor of the war and the conqueror of northeast Sweet Lotus Vale, Princess Leksa kom Trikru!” The priestess exclaims, and the rest of the crowd bow in their places._

_Templar servants escort me up to where the priestess stands. There is quite a view up here, of people respecting an outlander because of honor. What a truly impressive country.  
_

_After the ceremony—most of which fail to register to myself—we enter the temple then everything turns black._

I look down upon recalling the previous events. “How long was I out?”

“Two days, your highness.” She replies. _What?!_ “Your wounds are not fatal. There is, however, an old bruise on your stomach. It seemed to have partly healed on the outside, but depending on its depth, I am afraid it still prevents you from recovering fully.”

_An old bruise… could it be?_

“Where is my armor?” It is more of a command rather than a question.

The priestess approaches the table on the other side of the room. There lies my armor along with my swords. “We kept them safe and clean, your highness.”

“Please, stop calling me that.”

She frowns yet again. “But princess—”

“No, just… My name is Leksa.”

The priestess moves across the room. “I understand that this must be overwhelming for an outlander like yourself. Our culture may be far from yours, and trust me when I say I believe that it is far, but you were challenged, you accepted and you defeated the former prince of northeast Sweet Lotus Vale. By doing so, you gained everything that he owned—the title, the position, the domain and the people. Above all, you gained respect of everyone.” She explains. “From this day until your death or defeat, you are to be known as Princess Leksa kom Trikru of northeast Sweet Lotus Vale.”

I remain silent after the priestess’ speech. It is quite a lot to take in for someone who just woke up and still in pain. Nevertheless, everything that the woman said is true. I may not have asked for it, but now I am someone to this place.

The point is, what am I going to do about it?

“You must be hungry. I’ll have someone bring you lunch.” The priestess suggests before she heads for the door. “Would you like to meet your servants?”

I stare at her confusedly. “Servants…”

“I would say paramours, but none of them are your lovers unless you make them.”

“N-no.” A blush creeps on my cheeks. “I would like to be alone, please.”

The priestess gives a final bow and leaves the room.

* * *

The temple of the goddess of fertility becomes my home until I am fully healed. After one day since I woke up, I am finally able to stand and walk without assistance. My leg still bothers me but overall, I am capable of doing things myself. As such, the day for us to leave Ebonhead comes sooner.

“Would you like more wine, Princess?” One of Hakhi Ja’s former lover speaks with a hint of offering something more than wine.

I still cringe whenever I hear that honorary title. “No, thank you, Mo–Mikali.” I correct before I embarrass myself yet again. Ever since I decided to go out of my temporary room in the temple, most of the defeated prince’s former servants try to interact with me. Lu Rho says they are, more or less, pleasing me so I would pick them to be my lover.

“The sooner you pick, the sooner they will stop… temporarily.” The bald servant suggests.

I could only shake my head in disbelief. “I am not interested in _that_ , Lu Rho.”

“What about her,” He points to Tana, the daughter of a former princess. “...or do you prefer the timid one?” He continues, referring to Leelin who stands right next to the former.

“No… stop.” I sigh. “Is she always that shy?” I could not help my curiosity.

“She is rather young, your highness. She was given to Hakhi Ja as payment for a debt.”

“...and the daughter of a princess?”

“Ah, the most interesting one.” Lu Rho starts. “One can trace her bloodline all the way to Xanda Qo, the princess who united Summer Islanders against slavers thousands of years ago.” He pauses and takes a sip on his cup. “Of course, that only lasted for so long. Summer Isle is not completely free of slavery.”

“How come she served Hakhi Ja?” I have to ask.

“While Xanda Qo was a great ruler, her daughter Chatana Qo did not live up to expectations. She was known as the Arrow of Jhalar but she wed unwisely, thus the unfortunate fate of her descendants.”

I hold a cup of wine as I take in the brief history Lu Rho shares. I may need nights full of information rather than pleasure sooner of later.

“Is that helpful, your highness?”

I shake my head in response. “I don’t know.”

“Please, do not limit yourself to those ladies. You are welcome to choose whoever you find interesting—man, woman, servant or not.” When he hears no response from me, the bald servant stand up. “If I may, please do excuse myself.”

I nod in approval. But before he can exit the veranda, I shot one last question.

“Why do I need to pick one anyway? I told you I am looking for someone specifically. I am not here for pleasure.”

“You are in no way obligated to choose, your highness. However, you should know by now that we celebrate by making love. When that moment comes, you do not want to be swarmed by flocks of hungry maidens… not unless you prefer it that way?”

* * *

There is, thankfully, no more celebration on our last night at Ebonhead. We will be leaving for northeast Sweet Lotus Vale at first light and if anything, I have to rest since I have no idea how long our trip would be. Unfortunately, it seems that sleep won’t come anytime soon.

“To be honest, I am not surprised to see you awake and on your feet at this time of the night.” The priestess speaks softly.

“And why is that?” I ask without directly looking at the woman who now stands nearly beside me.

“You may be a victor, but you were an outlander. It is only fitting that you may feel nervous.”

I cross my brows. “I am not nervous.”

“No? Then, there must be something else…” Her tone is quite suggestive.

I open my mouth to say something but no words come out. Yes? No? I am restless, sure. However, my thoughts deviate far from the morning’s events. For some reason, I feel that I am ought to be somewhere else—definitely not here.

“I–” My words are cut by the sight of the priestess. An almost see through robe barely hides her body. Her hair is laid down on one side, exposing her neck and collarbone. She is undeniably beautiful.

I turn my gaze away from the woman as soon as process the whole thing.

“Tough on the outside and soft on the inside.” She utters. “Normally, a highborn would already pin me against the wall by this time.”

I swallow hard as I feel the heat on my face. “I-I am not a highborn. Please do not take offense for my actions.”

“Or lack thereof?” A brief silence is followed by giggles from the woman. “Relax, Princess. I will not force you to do anything. You do not worship the goddess of fertility, thus I do not expect you to follow our ways.”

Guilt creeps through me upon hearing her words. I was not born on this island but I am one of them now. I have to accept their ways sooner or later.

“May I ask what is bothering you? If I cannot offer myself as a priestess, at least let me offer an advice as a person.”

A soft smile curves on her face. “I… I don’t belong here.”

“Perhaps not. You are an outlander after all. Besides that fact, however, I do believe you are special. You have magic in your blood.”

I stare at her confusedly for a moment. _Ah, my blood_. “I was born for something, born to be someone. But that journey has ended. I don’t know why I am still here.”

“You did say you are looking for someone, did you not? Maybe that person is the reason.”

I look up at the dark night sky. Stars glimmer and a pain hits my chest.

“Yes, perhaps that is why.”

* * *

_**To be continued...** _


End file.
